Louis Untermeyer Poems
|1.||A Side Street||4/16/2010|
|4.||End Of The Comedy||4/16/2010|
|8.||How Much Of Godhood||1/4/2003|
|12.||Ivory And Rose||4/16/2010|
|17.||On The Birth Of A Child||4/16/2010|
|18.||Only Of Thee And Me||4/16/2010|
|19.||Portrait Of A Machine||4/16/2010|
|21.||Prayer For This House||4/16/2010|
|22.||Questions At Night||4/16/2010|
|27.||The Dark Chamber||4/16/2010|
|29.||The Victory Of The Beet-Fields||4/16/2010|
Portrait Of A Machine
What nudity as beautiful as this
Obedient monster purring at its toil;
These naked iron muscles dripping oil
And the sure-fingered rods that never miss.
This long and shining flank of metal is
Magic that greasy labour cannot spoil;
While this vast engine that could rend the soil
Conceals its fury with a gentle hiss.
It does not vent its loathing, it does not turn
Upon its makers with destroying hate.
It bears a deeper malice; lives to earn
It’s masters bread and laughs to see this great
Lord of the earth, who rules but cannot learn,
Become the slave of ...
What sudden bugle calls us in the night
And wakes us from a dream that we had shaped;
Flinging us sharply up against a fight
We thought we had escaped.
It is no easy waking, and we win
No final peace; our victories are few.
But still imperative forces pull us in
And sweep us somehow through.